


And only when I finally realized (did I really see your smile)

by shhgreenie



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M, Newmas - Freeform, blah blah blah, cheesy as fuck, childhood newtmas, i tried meh, im so sorry?, newtmas - Freeform, um suicide attempt too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 21:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3585366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shhgreenie/pseuds/shhgreenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone rises up in their seats and starts screaming and cheering, and the team is rushing towards Thomas, throwing him up in the air, yelling his name hoarsely. And Thomas – Thomas is grinning widely, his eyes slightly wide in disbelief, but he whoops and cheers with the rest of them, and Newt just stands there, at the sidelines, beaming with pride as he watches his best friend – and then, bam! it hits him, so hard and sudden it was as if someone punched him in the chest.</p><p>So this is how it feels like.</p><p>How could he have missed it for so long?</p>
            </blockquote>





	And only when I finally realized (did I really see your smile)

 

“Give that baaaack!” Thomas whines.

Newt grins hugely. “Nope. C’mon, Tommy, _a diary?_ That’s only for girls, you stupid shank.”

“Don’t read it!” Thomas lunges for the little black notebook in his best friend’s hand, but Newt runs away from him, laughing while he flips open the diary.

“ _Minho can run faster than me, that jerk,”_ Newt reads aloud, doubling over in laughter. “ _Mrs Simpson sucks like hell and so does Gally._ Agreed, Tommy. _Newt is really pretty…_ aw, thanks. I never thought my eyes could be described as ‘ _the colour of Hershey’s, it’s so endless and beautiful, I like it._ ’ Well, I like your eyes too, Tommy, if that helps the jealousy,” And Newt throws him a genuine smile, even though it’s tinged with mischief.

“Shuck-face,” Thomas mutters, even though his face has changed from bright red embarrassment to immense relief. Newt wonders why.

“WHO’S USING _SHUCK-FACE?_ THAT’S _MY_ COMEBACK, THOMAS!”

Minho, their best friend, barrels into the room and launches himself at Thomas; they fall back into the couch, both laughing and spitting out swear words.

“ _Fuck,_ Minho, tha' _hurt, geroff me!”_

Minho scrambles off the couch; it’s Newt’s mom’s after all, and Minho has no intention of annoying the lady of the house.

“So how was practice?” Newt asks, trying not to smile as Thomas groans dramatically and flops back onto the couch. Minho’s part of the school lacrosse team, and so is Thomas.

“S’okay,” Minho replies, between bites of the sandwich he had brought. “Brenda, you know, that pretty girl with the junk, asked me where _Thomas_ was. Told her he broke his ankle climbing that tree. She _totally_ likes you, man. Those lovesick eyes,” Minho shakes his head at Thomas. “But our Tommy here likes her too, right? Couldn’t take his eyes off her in Math.”

“Don’t call me that,” Thomas mumbles, his face flushing.

“Why?” Minho throws Newt a curious look. “Newt does.”

“And I _don’t like Brenda,_ ” Thomas continues, ignoring Minho’s question. For some reason, he looks up at Newt, eyes somewhat worried.

“Huh, okay then,” Minho snorts, and spots the black diary Newt is still holding. “Watcha got there, Newt?”

Thomas looks panicked. “Oh, no, Newt – don’t let him – “

But Minho has already gotten hold of the diary, though admittedly Newt didn’t make any attempt to stop him, nor does he try when Minho reads through it rapidly, laughing so hard he nearly pees himself.

“ _Pretty blond hair?_ Thomas – whaa..?”

All through the next week, Minho _constantly_ looks as if he knew something Newt doesn’t, shooting him and Thomas suggestive glances whenever the both of them were around.

Thomas looks as if he’s ready to die.

 

 

“Hey, man, really sorry about your mum.”

“Do you need anything?”

“I know how you feel Newt, my granddad passed away last month – “

Newt tries to ignore all of them, busying himself with his textbooks.

“ _OUT OF THE WAY, SLINTHEADS!”_

Minho elbows his way through the small crowd of people gathered around Newt, followed closely by Thomas. Newt lets his two best friends escort him to class, trying to act like he doesn’t notice all the ‘understanding’ glances and sympathetic pats he’s receiving.

_Fuck this small town._

Nothing could stay hidden, right?

After school, Newt races to the supply closet in the gymnasium, shutting the door and locking himself in; curling up next to an upturned bucket and crying softly, hidden somewhere where even Minho and Tommy aren’t able to find him.

People mean well, he knows, but right now he just wants to be alone.

 

_“NEWT!”_

In the haze of his blurry mind, Newt vaguely hears someone scream his name. _What is happening?_ He is conscious of an agonizing ache in his left ankle, and agonizing ache all over his body… _What is happening?_

He remembers endless desperation, loneliness and darkness, a swirling vortex of the bottomless abyss he’d fallen into.

He remembers standing on top of the roof, the wind whipping through his hair, a voice whispering _fly! fly! fly!_

He remembers he did.

Someone, the same someone who had screamed his name, skids down onto their knees next to him. Arms cradled his head gently, fingers brushing through his hair, the someone whispering _shh, it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay_ soothingly over and over.

The voice feels familiar. Warmth rushes through Newt when he realizes who it is.

“Newt, stay, stay, okay? Newt? Newt!

SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING!

NEWT!”

 _M’ staying, Tommy,_ he tries to say, but the dizziness overcomes him.

 

 

His left leg turns out to be a much bigger problem.

He can’t run anymore. He can only limp along, at the back of the group.

Sometimes he feels so worthless, he screamed and screamed to nobody, the tears streaming down his face.

His friends help, though.

And Tommy – Tommy is always there.

 

 

He’s fifteen now, and they’re _seniors_ , and it feels good.

People have stopped asking him about his ankle.

He found a new interest in art.

Minho and Tommy remain his friends.

 

 

 

“Holy – Tommy! Why didn’t you tell me you cut your hair?”

Thomas flushes. “Didn’t get a chance. My mum wanted me to get rid of my hair over the summer – she thinks it’s too hot, the weather.”

“Ah, okay,” Newt replies, cautiously patting his own messy blonde flop.

Thomas looks doubly embarrassed. “I know it’s hideous,” he says, squinting down at his knees.

“Naw, Tommy,” Newt says immediately, looking carefully at Thomas’ buzz cut. “Looks good on you, actually.”

Thomas smiles at him nervously.

 

 

_Come on, Tommy!_

Newt watches breathlessly as Thomas weaves expertly through the tight knit of the opposing team, clutching his stick so tightly Newt thought his knuckles were turning white. He ducks under the last dude who had rushed forward in a futile attempt to stop him, and – yes _! Yes yes yes!_

Everyone rises up in their seats and starts screaming and cheering, and the team is rushing towards Thomas, throwing him up in the air, yelling his name hoarsely. And Thomas – Thomas is grinning widely, his eyes slightly wide in disbelief, but he whoops and cheers with the rest of them, and Newt just stands there, at the sidelines, beaming with pride as he watches his best friend – and then, _bam!_ it hits him, so hard and sudden it was as if someone punched him in the chest.

So this is how it feels like.

How could he have missed it for so long?

 

 

Newt doesn’t really know how to act around Thomas after _that_ , so the next two weeks are awkward enough, because he can’t help but just _blush_ whenever he sees him around.

Then he walks into Thomas _changing_ in the boys’ locker, and – _do they not change in the showers anymore?! –_ he’d felt his face burn as he tried to advert his eyes and Thomas blinks at him confusedly when he rushes off because, well, they’d been friends for so long, and _best friends_ do not just mumble and run away when they see the other person half-naked.

So Newt had spent the entire day trying to forget the image of Thomas’ well-built body, his arms and shoulders and toned chest and _oh God why was his jeans so tight._

 

 

They’re sixteen, and Minho apparently thinks they look old enough to pass as twenty-one. They get thrown out of the first club they go to – _fake IDs don’t work here, kid! –_ so in the end they go to Thomas’ and get wasted on his dad’s cheap tequila.

Newt is, frankly, _horrible_ at drinking. He’s only had two glasses when he starts to feel tipsy. This wasn’t good. When he got drunk, he literally _could not stop his mouth._ Words just spurted out, random, personal, terribly embarrassing words.

But Tommy is already on his fourth glass, smiling at him widely over the amber liquid. So Newt picks up the bottle, and sloppily pours his third shot.

“Say, Teresa’s looking pretty smoking now, dontcha think?” Thomas grins, eyes unfocused, lips pursed up at the thought of their only female (badass) friend.

Newt feels a jolt of jealousy. “ _I_ don’t think so,” he announces. “Figures are overrated.” He frowns. “And I don’t like her eyes.”

“Wha’s wrong wif blue?” Minho asks, waggling his fingers at Newt.

“I like brown better,” Newt whines, not thinking at all about what he was saying, just letting the fuzzy warmth take over him. “Cognac brown, like the colour of this drink, yanno?”

And he giggles, apparently for no reason.

Thomas snaps slightly out of his reverie. “Like mine?”

Newt nods, still not thinking clearly. “I like your eyes, Tommy. Remember I told ya that? When I found your diary…” He chuckles fondly.

Thomas’ eyes light up, and the urge to kiss him is so bad Newt can’t help but lean forward and peck him lightly on the lips. Then he pulls away because his head was spinning but… _still._ It feels nice.

He’s too drunk to notice Thomas’ deep blush and nervous stammers and the awkward position he’s currently sitting in.

 

 

“Hey.”

Newt is busy with his textbooks so he doesn’t look up but Thomas can hear the smile in his voice. “Hey, Tommy,”

Thomas wonders if he looks as nervous as he feels. “W-we should talk.”

“We are talking, right now.”

“N-no,” Thomas takes a deep breath. “I mean _talk_ talk.”

Newt slams his locker door shut, and turns around to look at Thomas. “Did you get in trouble? ‘Cause – look – Minho and I are really sorry about the tequila – “

“It’s not that.” Thomas twiddles his thumbs, his insides squirming. “I mean, it kinda is, but it-it’s not my parents – um, it’s, um, you and me – “

Newt’s eyes widen slightly, almost as if in panic.

“I-uh…what can there be to talk about, Tommy? I haven’t done anything wrong, have I? I mean, if I have you’ll forgive me right? We are _friends_ , yeah? And friends, um, forgive each other for whatever shit they’ve done and – “

Thomas’ stomach turns. _He’s no good at this._

“That’s exactly what I wanna talk about!” His voice comes out much louder than he meant.

“What?” Newt looks almost…scared.

_Just say it._

Say it, say it, say it. Say what has been stuck at the back of his throat for almost six years already. Say what he practices to the mirror almost every day. Say what he’s been _wanting_ to say every single time he saw the blonde, ever since he’d watched the hospital staff wheel his best friend into the emergency room in a stretcher and all that was running through his mind was _missed it, I missed it, I missed my chance and now I’m never going to get another one._

He thinks of the million different ways he’d tried to say _I love you_ and failing. He thinks how, now, when he was at the most crucial point and the whole world seemed to be holding its breath, he has to choose the stupidest, stupidest way.

By kissing the air out of him.

 

A little perfect clichéd ending, Newt did love those kind best anyway.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave kudos and comments and stuff? I'll tattoo them all over my heart. (Posted this on a 2am whim, by the way.)


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